


The Pro

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s10e22 The Prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 09:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4054798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean left a bit of a mess after The Prisoner. Two corrupt cops under the thumb of the Styne family are left to figure it all out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pro

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt fill for Tumblr]
> 
> The sheriff was named in the episode, but his subordinate officer was not, so I used the last name of the actor who played him, Coleman.

By the time Sheriff Landes was conscious and coherent, Deputy Coleman had done his research. He had done what they should have done in the first place, and looked Dean Winchester up in the database, instead of simply taking Monroe Styne’s word for anything. Being in the pocket of the Styne family was one thing; everyone was in that situation. Getting himself killed for them was something else entirely, and neither Coleman nor his boss had signed up for that. So when he had awakened from his unscheduled nap under his own desk, and learned about the fate of both Sheriff Landes and the prisoner, Coleman had hurried to search the man’s name.

Dean Winchester. Deceased.

Coleman frowned severely. “Well, he’s obviously not,” he muttered to himself.

There were multiple hits on the name, and even though photographs and descriptive detail on each of them pointed to the guy he had cuffed to his chair, none of them could possibly be him.

Except…they were. All of them.

The man had escaped custody in Jericho, California ten years ago. In St. Louis, he had killed several people after torturing them, before being shot by a SWAT officer. That was the first Dean Winchester, but the others were disturbingly similar in appearance and brutality. He had been sighted causing a disturbance at the congregation of some faith healer named Le Grange, and warned off the property, but had not been charged with anything, since the officers had not known at the time what a threat he was. In Hibbing, he had apparently impersonated an officer, though as far as Coleman could tell, the report was filed nearly a week after the incident, which did not make any sense at all. He and his brother Sam were arrested in Baltimore for a series of homicides, and they escaped yet again, and this Detective Ballard was even less clear than the Hibbing officer about how that happened. Nine years back, both brothers were involved in a convoluted Milwaukee bank heist that Coleman could make no sense of whatsoever. This time, the FBI had become involved, and yet still these psychos had fled the scene, in SWAT gear. no less. Dean had broken himself out of prison in Green River County, it seemed, making this the fifth time he had been in the hands of the law and slipped away, not including the time he had apparently died and been cremated.

That made Coleman feel a little better that the guy had slipped his cuffs. He continued reading.

In Colorado, in early 2008, Dean and his brother were arrested by an FBI agent named Henriksen, who reported them as having died in an explosion when a mob had attacked the sheriff’s department. Oddly, it seemed that Henriksen died in the same blast, so Coleman had no idea how he could have been the reporting officer. Nothing about any of these reports made a lick of sense. Again in Colorado, this time in Rock Ridge, Dean had been identified by a young officer from photographs as the man posing as a fed, possibly a drunk one, who likely killed the admittedly paranoid sheriff when he went to arrest him in a motel room. In Iowa, just weeks later, the duo had been detained on charges of having kidnapped a stage magician named Jay, but the charges were dropped almost immediately, and before anyone realized who these two really were. Dean had been caught on a surveillance camera calmly eating pizza with a tall thin man in a Chicago pizzeria, surrounded by death all around them, in every booth but theirs.

After nearly a year’s lull, Dean Winchester popped up in Easter, Pennsylvania, returning an injured child to a police department, and evidently jumping out a window that was not even on the ground floor to escape custody again, identified only by photographs. Even stranger was the time in Elwood, Indiana when Dean had obviously been affected by some hallucinogenic substance, when he was detained for a hate crime, having attacked a homosexual little person on the street, screaming about fighting fairies. As always, the police were not able to identify him until days after he had left town. Having been classified as deceased multiple times seemed to be an advantage for this nutcase.

Dean and his brother were soon found on surveillance after a massacre in a small Oregon town, but no one was left alive as witness, not in the diner, the fraternity house, or the police department. Charred bodies were all that remained of the whole thing. After that, it was like these men wanted the world to see how brutal they were. Their faces were everywhere, and when surveillance cameras were unavailable, they had even forced victims to record their heinous massacres. Credit card fraud was not enough to get these guys off anymore, nor even single homicide. Now they were going into banks, gas stations, diners, and even a police department, to slaughter everyone in the building without mercy. It was disgusting. But it had ended with the death of the Winchesters at last.

Now, here they were. At least, here Dean was. Somewhere. How could this guy, pro or not, still be walking the earth, let alone still driving that same nearly fifty year old Impala that had been at the scene of every crime he and his brother had ever committed?

It was then that Sheriff Landes came stumbling in, hospital tag still wrapped around his wrist. “He’s killed them!” he shrieked hysterically.

“What? Who? Killed who?”

“The guy we detained. He went Terminator on the Stynes.”

“What, all of them?” Coleman could not even begin to process this information. The Stynes were the scariest people on the planet. Or…they had been, until he had just spent two hours reading through every scrap of information on Dean and Sam Winchester.

Landes was shaking head to toe, and he fell into the seat across from Coleman, the one Dean had occupied hours ago. His face was bruised and swollen, and he looked gray wherever he didn’t look pink. His trembling hand pulled a flask from his jacket, and he indulged without a breath until it was empty. “All of them,” he confirmed finally. “Never saw so much blood in my whole damn life. I can’t even…I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Coleman licked his lips and nodded slowly. “I didn’t process any paperwork on the guy. Did you?”  

Landes snorted. “Of course not. Monroe wanted him off the record.”

“Well. He’s definitely off the record. Did he kill them at the Styne estate?”

Foggy eyes sharpened suddenly. “Yeah.”

Coleman took a breath. “Seems to me that estate is just outside the city line, ain’t it? I mean…sounds like county’s problem to me, sir.”

The sheriff began to smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it could be. Coleman, I think you may have a bright future here in the department.”

“Thank you, sir,” he sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

If there was a single man in the world that he didn’t want to ever have to think about again, it was the guy whose tail lights he had smashed out that morning.


End file.
